


Wipeout!

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:18:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blackwood is certain he saw Ironhorse die...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wipeout!

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Remote Control #3, Kathy Agel editor, then reprinted in Green Floating Weirdness #21 under the pen name Laura Grigsby and Gillian Holt.

_"In all likelihood we have a drowning here."_

 

          Harrison Blackwood, enigmatic leader of the secret Blackwood Project, gripped the brass railing of the Coast Guard Cutter and tried to ignore the faint uneasiness that refused to stop tugging at the edges of his thoughts.  The Project's computer and communications expert, Norton Drake, had picked up alien transmissions on Catalina Island, and Harrison, along with the Project's head of security, headed out to investigate the small land mass off the Los Angeles coast.  They found nothing.  Nothing at all.  It was wrong.

          Glancing over at Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse, Blackwood allowed himself a thin smile.  Despite the fact that the soldier was a full-blooded Native American, he looked completely at home leaning against the bow railing.  In fact, the man looked more like some dark pirate than an Army Special Forces officer, a thought that would no doubt rankle the colonel if he were able to read the scientist's mind.

          Three inches shorter than Blackwood himself, the six foot tall soldier was in perfect shape, a medium build hiding much of the man's strength while at the same time giving him an edge in speed and maneuverability.  Short black hair fluttered in the breeze, adding a boyish look to the handsome, angular face that smiled too infrequently.  Black eyes looked up at Harrison, exhilaration dancing in their depths. The lure of the Pacific could call even a Carolina Cherokee.

          It was hard for the scientist to believe that they had become friends, but their initial antagonism had slowly grown into a cordial working relationship, and finally into friendship.  The bond they shared was forged out of necessity, fear and danger, and it extended beyond that of typical friends.  Blackwood shook his head.  It was just damned amazing, whatever it was.

          He moved down to join Ironhorse.  "How much longer?" he asked, gripping the railing.

          "We should be back to Santa Barbara in an hour or so.  The Coast Guard's in no rush.  They'll have a car waiting for us.  We'll meet a chopper at Vandenberg Air Force Base and fly back to Ft. Streeter.  We should be back to the Cottage by dark."

          When Blackwood made no reply, Ironhorse turned his attention from the two dolphins racing alongside the Cutter's bow to study the taller man.  Blackwood’s curly light-brown hair was in total disarray, the squinting blue eyes slightly haunted. Paul wished that he could hold those shadows at bay, but Blackwood couldn't completely escape the memories of the covert war they fought against the alien invaders from Mor'tax.  And if the truth was told, neither could he.

          Harrison fidgeted under the scrutiny, glancing around to watch the Coast Guardsmen going about their duties.  From another section of the boat the astrophysicist could hear the colonel's elite special operations squad, Omega, laughing.  For them, at least, a false alarm meant that there were no friends to be buried, no wounds to be healed.

          He wondered why Ironhorse wasn't with them.  "Did you want to be alone?" he asked the officer.

          Ironhorse shook his head.  "I thought it might do them some good to relax without me around."

          Blackwood nodded.  "I think we missed something."

          Before the colonel could respond, a voice interrupted, calling to them from the railing where Blackwood had stood earlier.  "Dr. Blackwood.  Colonel Ironhorse. We have a call for you from a Mr. Drake.  He says it's urgent."

          The soldier's black eyebrows climbed in concern as he headed for the stairs, Blackwood right behind him.  Entering the wheelhouse, the communications man handed over a headset.

          "Ironhorse here," Paul said after slipping it on and adjusting the mike in front of his mouth.

          "Harrison with you?" Norton asked.

          "Yes, he's here," the colonel replied, motioning Blackwood closer to listen in as well.

          "I just picked up another set of three transmissions.  Two were from Anacapa Island.  That's just off the coast of Santa Barbara.  The other one was a reply from a location further out to sea.  I'm guessing, but I think there might be two teams of aliens working out there, one on Catalina and one on Anacapa, and a headquarters of some kind out on some boat."

          "Did you pinpoint the third location?"

          "No, the burst was too short for an exact fix, but I'd bet the coffee maker that they're on their way to pick up the guys on Anacapa.  It's in a range half-way between the two islands."

          "Norton's guesses have been pretty good so far," Blackwood offered.

          "All right, Mr. Drake," Ironhorse concurred, "we'll check it out.  Inform General Wilson, just in case.  Ask him to arrange for an MP unit at Vandenberg to be put on stand-by, and notify Omega C to fly down."

          "Gotcha.  And, Colonel, you and the Doc be careful."

          "Like always, Norton," Ironhorse said into the mike.  Removing the headset, he looked from a concerned Blackwood to the Coast Guard commander.  "We're going to make an unplanned stop at Anacapa Island."

          "Sir, that island is a protected habitat.  No one's allowed there without special permission, and then it's limited to scientists, professors, and university students for the most part."

          "Just the same, Commander, we'll be dropping by."  Ironhorse glanced at Blackwood and saw the man grin.  "Presidential authority," the colonel added.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse waited with Harrison while the Omega Squad finished a sweep of the east end of the island.  Anacapa Island was a small land mass, but large enough for the aliens to hide if they suspected the soldiers were there looking for them.  The colonel hoped their activities would look like a staged military exercise, but even that might be enough to spook the Mor'taxans if they knew about the island's protected status.

          The radio crackled.  "Apple one, this is Apple two," Sergeant Norah Coleman said, her voice slightly agitated.

          "Apple one here."

          "Colonel, we've located a small compound.  Looks like it was occupied by a group of students and professors from the community college in Santa Barbara.  There's no sign of them, but there's plenty of evidence of alien transfers."

          "Damn," Paul breathed.  "Set up a search grid and start working your way out from the compound.  And keep me informed."

          "Apple one, this is Apple three," Stravakos' voice interrupted.  "We have a location, repeat, we have a location."

          The colonel gripped the radio tighter.  "Coordinates?"

          "On the beach in grid seven-three.  That's seven-three, over?"

          "Roger seven-three.  Set up a defensive perimeter, but do not, I repeat, do not engage unless fired upon.  Do they look like students?"

          "Roger, Apple one.  We have seven so far."

          "Let's go," Ironhorse said, heading off through the brush toward the beach, Blackwood following close behind.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse scowled at the young people working on the beach.  He and Blackwood had made their way to the location, moving slowly and carefully across a small meadow at the top of a bluff.  Below, the waves lapped in a light surf.

          Blackwood, who refused to stay behind on the Coast Guard cutter, reached for his pocket Geiger counter and directed it toward the college students.  The needle immediately jumped into the red.  "I was afraid of that," he whispered sadly.

          "What are they doing?" the colonel asked.

          "I'm not sure, but it looks like they're loading beehives into that sailboat.  Take a look," Blackwood said, passing the field glasses over.

          Ironhorse accepted them, watching the human-blended aliens for several seconds.  "That's what they're doing, all right, but what could they want bees for?  And why these bees in particular?"

          "I wish I knew, Colonel."

          "Now what, sir?" Sergeant Stravakos asked from just behind the officer.  The young man shifted his Uzi around on its strap for easier access.

          "We wait for them to group up on the beach and we attack," Ironhorse said.  "Make sure everyone is spread out.  I want a tight semi-circular field of fire."

          "We need to make sure one of those hives is salvaged," Blackwood said intently.  "We have to know what's special about them; what drew the aliens out here."

          "Right," Ironhorse agreed.  Turning to the sergeant he ordered, "Pass the word.  Now, we wait."

          The young man nodded and eased off through the heavy brush, leaving the two men alone to watch what used to be seven human beings.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Nearly an hour later Ironhorse waited anxiously as nine aliens slowly gathered near the sailboat.  They spoke in their native language, the guttural pops and slurs incomprehensible to the observing humans.  Keying his radio twice, Ironhorse heard two single clicks in reply.  The Omegans were ready to move on his order.

          His attention focused on the beach, Ironhorse was unaware of the final three aliens just now arriving with their cargo – another hive, resting on a wooden pallet that the invaders had stuck poles through, creating a crude carryall.

          "We have been discovered!" they yelled in unison, the words carrying down the hillside to their comrades on the beach, who began to scatter.

          Ironhorse rolled, his M-9 seeming to materialize out of nowhere in his hands.

          Blackwood scrambled over, as surprised as the soldier to find three aliens nearly on top of them.

          "Now!" Ironhorse yelled into his radio before shoving it into a pocket and springing to his feet, firing as he did.  One of the students/aliens fell, toppling the hive from its resting place.  The other two invaders dove for cover, then began firing back.

          "Harrison, go down to the left.  Coleman's group is there.  You'll be safe."

          "What about you?" the astrophysicist asked, ready to refuse.

          "I'm going hunting," Paul replied, scrambling off into the undergrowth before Blackwood could object.

          Cursing the soldier under his breath, Harrison began moving down the easy slope toward the sand.  The Omegans had already killed six of the nine aliens, the remaining three taking refuge in an outcropping of craggy rocks that stretched from the beach well out into the Pacific.  With the tide going out, they had ample places to hole up.  In teams of two the Omegans began scouring the formation to flush them out.

          Someone grabbing the shoulder of his jacket stopped Blackwood, his hands coming up automatically in a gesture of self-defense, but it was the pretty blonde sergeant.  "Doctor, if you'll come with me.  The Coast Guard's on the way.  ETA is five minutes."

          Above them, Harrison heard an exchange of gunfire and was relatively certain that Ironhorse's was the final shot.  The Omegans, routing two of the aliens, quickly dispatched them, their melting bodies joining the froth of the tide swirling around the rocks.  The sight of the cutter rounding the point of the island and bearing down on the beach spooked the last of the nine and Stravakos quickly shot it.

          They had secured the beach, and the hives were still sitting undisturbed in the small sailboat tied off to the Zodiac.  Three of the Omegans started up the hill, intending to help the colonel, when Coleman gasped and pointed.

          "Over there!" she cried.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          About twenty-five yards up the beach, on a twenty-foot cliff that overlooked the beach, Ironhorse and the last alien were locked in a hand-to-hand struggle.  The Uzi Coleman carried was trained on the two figures, but there was no clear shot.

          The alien, in the body of a relatively thin young man, was still physically stronger than the soldier and seemed to be getting the upper hand.  Blackwood felt himself go numb with fear.  If the alien managed to subdue the colonel, even partially, it would be able to blend with him…

          Ironhorse growled in frustration as he struggled to maneuver his M-9 for one good shot, but the alien had a grip on his wrist that he could not overcome.  The sickening sound of the Mor'taxan's third arm freeing itself drowned out the tide and the soldier watched the three suction-tip fingers pressing against the thin white tee-shirt as they emerged out of the human host's chest.  In a moment the alien would be able to abandon that human body and take Ironhorse's.  There was nothing the soldier could do to stop it either, unless…

          Summoning up all the strength he could, Ironhorse focused, dropped and yelled, jerking himself and the alien toward the ground.  One leg, folded against his chest, pistoned out, catching the man/thing in its mid-section and catapulting it over the side of the cliff.  The monster, refusing to let go of the soldier's wrist, dragged the colonel over with him.

          The last thought Ironhorse had as he felt the alien catch against the jagged rocks before bouncing off into the ocean was concern for Blackwood.  The man didn't take loss very well.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "No!" Harrison yelled, already sprinting down the beach as the two men fell from the short bluff.

          Reaching the site where they had entered the water, and heedless of the slippery rocks, he scrambled out to where a smear of green slime told him he was right.  Ironhorse had killed the creature.

          "Colonel!" he yelled, scanning the choppy surf.  "Paul!  Ironhorse!  Answer me, damn it!"

          In the distance he caught sight of another boat and wondered if it could be the floating alien headquarters Norton had told them about.

          The Omegans, who had followed the scientist onto the rocks, spread out, searching for their commander.  Three of the men stripped off their weapons and jackets, diving into the cold water, submerging and surfacing repeatedly as they checked along the bottom of the outcropping for the man.

          His trembling legs no longer able to support him, Blackwood sank down on the wet rocks and watched, a growing sense of panic threatening to overwhelm him.  "Paul," he called softly, "where are you?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Stravakos, Coleman, and the Coast Guard commander stood on the beach, waiting while the remaining Omegans completed a clean up of the island.  A chopper had arrived earlier, depositing the remaining civilian members of the Blackwood Project, who conducted the investigation of the compound and the hives.

          Alverez signaled that they were ready, and the two sergeants looked back to the astrophysicist, still sitting on the rocks.  The tide was coming in, and before long Harrison would be cut off from the beach.  Just off the formation, Coast Guard divers continued to search for a body.

          "We need to get them back to the Cottage," Coleman said, not wanting to believe that the colonel was dead.  Blackwood had agreed with the Coast Guard commander that there was nothing more any of them could do on the island, but the sergeant wasn't convinced.  It felt wrong to give up until they at least found a body, but Blackwood was in charge.

          "Let's go get him," Stravakos said.

          Together the two Omegans climbed out to join Blackwood.  "Sir, the cleanup's complete, Dr. McCullough and Mr. Drake are finished, and the Coast Guard is ready to go," Stravakos explained.

          Looking up at the pair, Blackwood fought back the immediate impulse to tell them what he thought of the idea.  Instead, he nodded mutely, then stood stiffly and followed them back to the beach.

          The commander looked uncomfortable, but motioned them toward a launch before he said, "We have the drift calculated now.  We should be able to, ah, locate the body."

          Blackwood felt his stomach roll, and the muscles across his shoulders tightened, tugging at his jaw muscles and making them twitch.  "Commander—" he began.

          "Dr. Blackwood," the man interrupted, "I'm very sorry, but your land search didn't turn up a body and my divers couldn't find anything either.  In all likelihood we have a drowning here.  If that's the case, Colonel Ironhorse's body will wash up on a public beach, and I, for one, would like to avoid that, if at all possible."

          Blackwood nodded.  The man was right.  It was the least they could do.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Suzanne McCullough sat curled up on the living room couch, watching Blackwood as he stared into the flames of the low-burning fire.  It had been three days since they had lost Ironhorse and the man was slipping further and further into a depression that the microbiologist couldn't see a way out of.  The Coast Guard had returned to the island to search again when Ironhorse's body failed to appear when and where they expected it, but they hadn’t found any more than they had the first time.  And the Project's investigation of the hives had turned up nothing they could use.

          Without Harrison's help, she wasn't sure they _could_ find anything.  The man had an uncanny understanding of the aliens, and they relied on his insights.  And Harrison needed the colonel.  It wasn't fair.  They all needed Ironhorse.

          Earlier she had called Santa Barbara, but the people at the City College hadn't been much help either.  The field biologist most closely connected to the research being done on the Anacapa Island bees was at a conference in Denver.  Suzanne had called him there, but Dr. Larry wasn't able to come up with any reasons why "terrorists" might want his bees.  They were just normal bees, a unique subspecies, but just bees.  Frustrated, she had returned to the comfort of the living room to wait.  Sooner or later the aliens would make another move.

          "Harrison?" she said softly, "I'm going to get some coffee, would you like some?"

          "No," he said distractedly, then added, "thank you."

          Standing, the microbiologist left, bringing back a second cup anyway.  She handed it to Blackwood and he accepted it without comment, but held it in his lap.

          Sitting down on the thick carpet near the hearth, Suzanne rested a hand on the man's knee.  "Harrison, this isn't helping.  I understand the loss, God, I feel it, too, but we can't give up.  We can't let the aliens win."

          Blackwood's blue eyes shifted slowly from the flames to Suzanne's face.  "I left him up there – alone," he said in a whisper.

          "You did what he told you to do.  You did the right thing.  Paul's a trained soldier, Harrison, you're not.  If you'd stayed with him, he would’ve been worrying about you, not what he had to do, and that might've gotten _both_ of you killed."

          "But if I had stayed, Paul might be alive."

          Suzanne sighed.  "Maybe, maybe not, but Harrison, we _have_ to keep going."

          Blackwood handed her the coffee cup and pushed himself up.  "I know, Suzanne, I do.  But I just can't let it go."  Turning, he stalked out of the room.  "Not yet," the last words hanging in the room.

          Setting the two cups aside, Suzanne scrambled to her feet and chased after him, catching Blackwood at the front door.  "Harrison, where are you going?"

          "For a drive.  I need to clear my head," he told her.

          "Take one of the Omegans.  Please?  If you don't, I'm going to have to tell Derriman," she threatened.  Ironhorse was dead, and there was no way she was going to lose another friend.

          Blackwood sighed.  "All right.  Fine."

          She watched as the astrophysicist walked over to the guest house that served as billet for the Army detachment at the Cottage.  He knocked and entered.

          She closed the door and returned to the living room.  Sitting down in front of the fireplace, she pressed her hands over her mouth and allowed herself to grieve.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Dr. Blackwood, what can we do for you?" Sergeant Derriman, Omega's senior NCO, asked.

          "I need a volunteer.  I'm going for a drive and Dr. McCullough insists that I take along a babysitter."

          "I'll go, sir," Stravakos and Coleman replied in unison.

          Derriman looked from the scientist to the pair.  Coleman was actually in charge of the unit with Ironhorse missing, even if Derriman was senior in rank.  "Alex, why don't you tag along?"

          Coleman glowered at Derriman, but she didn't object.  She knew he was right; her duty was at the Cottage – preparing to meet and brief the colonel's replacement.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Stravakos shifted nervously in the passenger seat of the Bronco.  Glancing out the window, he watched the Pacific rolling gently along the beach as they proceeded south.

          "Something wrong, Sergeant?" Blackwood asked.  He had never really associated with Omega squad, or reached a position where he could call any of them friends.  _Funny_ , he thought.  Some of the people had been with them for over a year, and he knew nothing about them.

          "No, sir, not exactly," the young man said.

          Alexander Stravakos was a powerfully built man, his black hair, brown eyes, and olive complexion giving him a decidedly ethnic look.  Raised in a series of foster homes, the sergeant had never had the opportunity to learn about his Greek heritage.  Joining the Army when he was eighteen, Stravakos had never quite fit in until he joined Ironhorse's band of alien fighters, but in Omega he had grown into a fine NCO and one of the squad's best leaders.

          Blackwood nodded.  "Is it standard Army practice to be evasive, Sergeant?"

          Stravakos looked at the scientist, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth.  "No, sir."  He paused a moment, then stated, "We're heading for Santa Barbara, aren't we."

          "Yes."

          "And you're going to rent a boat and go out to that island, aren't you."

          "Yes."

          "Sir, do you really think that's a good idea?  I mean, there's no way the Colonel can be on that island.  We searched it end to end, and the Coast Guard–"

          "Do you believe Colonel Ironhorse is dead?"

          The sergeant hesitated, then shook his head.  He looked back out the window as he said, "To tell you the truth, sir, I know he's gone, but there's a part of me that can't believe that _anything_ could kill that man…  Ah hell, that doesn't make any sense."

          Blackwood nodded silently.  "Yes, it does.  I feel like that myself.  My head tells me he's gone, but everything else is saying he can't be, that it was too fast, too easy."

          "Yes, sir, I know the feeling.  If they'd just found a body…"

          "Exactly."

          They drove on for several minutes, each man kept company by his own thoughts, then Harrison sighed and said softly, "I just need to see it again.  I need to know he isn't there.  Then I can say goodbye."

          "Yes, sir," the sergeant said.  "I'm with you."

          "Good," Blackwood replied, "but can you please stop calling me 'sir'?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Negotiating for a boat to take them to the island was more difficult than Blackwood imagined, and he had to change his story three times and raise the remuneration accordingly before he managed to talk one of the locals into it.  Once it was arranged, Blackwood called the Cottage, his conscience telling him that he owed Suzanne an apology when they returned.  He had stormed out without a mobile phone, and she and Norton would have every right to be worried and upset with him and the sergeant for being out of contact for so long.

          "Harrison?" came the anxious voice on the other end of the line.

          "Suzanne, what's wrong?" he asked.

          "Where have you been?  We've been trying to find you for hours!"

          "What's wrong?" he asked again, ignoring her obvious anger.

          "You're not going to believe this, but the Coast Guard called, and–"

          "Paul?" Harrison cut in, his voice catching.

          "Not exactly, but—"

          " _What?_ " he demanded.

          "Let me tell you," the microbiologist snapped.

          "I'm sorry," he apologized.

          "Me too," was the reply, accompanied with a heavy sigh.  "But listen, it seems that the Coast Guard got a call from one of the oil derricks off the coast.  They spotted what they think is a fire on Anacapa Island."

          "A fire?"  Fear and panic warred for attention, but Blackwood forced them back.  "What—?"

          "Harrison, if Paul’s alive, how else could he try to let someone know he's out there?"

          "You're right!  My God, you're right!  He might be alive!"  Blackwood grinned at Stravakos when the young man's head snapped around at the proclamation.  "Look, the sergeant and I are in Santa Barbara–"

          "Why doesn't that surprise me?" Suzanne grumbled.  "You think that's a surprise?  Look—"

          Harrison interrupted, explaining, "We've rented a boat."

          "Another news flash."

          "I'm going out there."

          She could hear the determination in his voice.  There was no way she was going to talk him out of it, but she had to try.  "Harrison, the Coast Guard already has a patrol boat headed out there, let them do their job.  You're _not_ a sailor."

          "Suzanne, I have to go.  I— I just have to do this."

          "Be careful," she surrendered.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison and Stravakos found the Coast Guard patrol boat anchored off the section of beach where they had encountered the aliens.  Crewmen were on the beach, some shoveling to extinguish a large bonfire that poured a black-gray smoke into the air.  Given the size of the blaze, it was no wonder the crew on the oil derrick had spotted it in the darkness.  If by some chance they had missed it then the rising smoke would have been unavoidable in the otherwise clear blue sky.

          Two men knelt in the sand, working over a prone figure, and Blackwood felt his diaphragm tighten, making it almost impossible for him to breathe.  What if they were too late?  What if Paul was permanently disabled?  What if—?

          The boat captain eased up alongside the patrol boat, a Coast Guardsman helping the scientist and Stravakos aboard.  "Dr. Blackwood?" he asked.

          "Yes," Harrison said.  "Is he alive?  I want to get over there—"

          "Sir, Colonel Ironhorse is alive and the medics are working on him.  We've called for a helicopter to transport him to the hospital.  That'll save us some time.  They should be here anytime now."

          "I want to get over there," Blackwood reiterated.  " _Now_."

          Stravakos suppressed a smile.  The good doctor sounded just like the colonel.

          "Yes, sir," the Guardsman breathed, clearly wishing he didn't have to deal with demanding civilians.  What the hell were they doing on a protected island, anyway?  "If you'll come with me, I'll take you over."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison was in the low surf before the small inflatable launch reached the shore.  Slogging through the water, he reached the beach and forced himself over to where the two medics were working.

          The first thing Blackwood noticed was Ironhorse’s splinted leg, then the white bandage wrapping the man's head.  A blanket had been tucked around the colonel's shoulders, but he still trembled despite the mild temperature.

          Dropping onto his knees next to the injured man, Blackwood felt the same numbness that had possessed him three days before sweep over him.  "How is he?" he managed to ask.

          "He's dehydrated," the medic began, nodding to the bag of solution they had draining into the soldier through an IV line.  "Suffering some from exposure.  It gets cold out here at night.  Wrenched, maybe broken ankle, and a mild concussion.  He's shocky, but I think we found him in time."

          Harrison nodded.  _Dehydration… exposure… shock… my God, how could we have left him here?_

          "How he managed to find all that driftwood and build that bonfire is beyond me," the medic continued.

          "There's no way he could've walked on that leg.  He must have crawled," the second man said, the respect and admiration he felt for the colonel clearly evident in his voice.  "We found him passed out right here.  Damn smart move.  If the guys on the derrick hadn't seen the smoke he might not have made it through another night."

          One of the crewmen jogged over.  "The chopper's on the way.  ETA's less than five minutes."

          "I want to go with him," Blackwood said, his tone leaving no room for disagreement.

          One of the medics cleared his throat, then said, "Sir, it'll depend on the chopper boys.  They might not have room for you."

          Blackwood ground his teeth, but he nodded.  There was nothing he could do anyway.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison spent the return trip to Santa Barbara sitting along the port side of the motorboat while the captain piloted over calm seas.  Stravakos remained with the captain, the pair talking in quiet voices.  Blackwood appreciated the soldier's consideration.  The numbness was wearing off, and several conflicting emotions warred for his attention.  He would have made lousy company.

          Some of what he felt left the astrophysicist ashamed of himself, but he tried to reason with his feelings.  They were just the natural reactions of loss.  He was mad at Ironhorse.  And that was entirely irrational.  There was no way the colonel had planned for this to happen.  He hadn't planned on falling off a cliff and nearly killing himself, and he certainly hadn't planned to return from the dead to haunt Blackwood.

          The scientist even knew why he was mad.  It made him guilty.  He was telling himself he should have stayed.  That he should have found the man, but that too was irrational.  Caring, friendship . . . love, he decided, was irrational.

          Blackwood held that thought, turned it over in his mind, and studied it with the objective eye of the astronomer who gazed at his favorite star while at the same time nurturing an abiding passion for the distant object.  Slowly realization dawned.

          Harrison Blackwood had done what he had always done when faced with a loss he didn't want to accept.  He had run – literally and figuratively.  He hadn't allowed himself to really mourn; that would have required that he accept the fact that Ironhorse was gone.  And he had allowed the search to be called off before they had a body.  No wonder the Omegans had looked angry when he let the Coast Guard talk them off the island.

          Staring into the clear blue sky above them, Harrison thanked whatever powers existed for another chance.  Perhaps it was the "Grandfather" Ironhorse sometimes referred to who had watched over him, or maybe it was just luck, but whatever the source, Blackwood promised himself he wouldn't let what he had learned about himself slip forgotten into some recess of his mind.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse woke when sunlight slipped in past the half-closed curtains of his room.  He knew he was in a hospital before he opened his eyes, the antiseptic smell and soft snoring from nearby alerting him as to his location.  He lay for a moment, taking stock of his condition.  An IV dripped whatever clear fluids he needed into his arm, his left leg was elevated and wrapped, but it wasn't in a cast, so it wasn't broken.  His throbbing head and detached awareness of his other injuries told him he wasn't completely over the mild concussion either.

          Glancing around the plain white room, he smiled slightly at the crucifix that hung just to the right of the door.  He must be in a Catholic hospital.  It reminded him vaguely of his own room when he was a child.  His mother, a Catholic, had hung similar crucifixes in the rooms of all her children, and so had the sisters at the boarding school he had attended.

          Near the window, Blackwood sat in a large padded chair, his legs stretched out, his head slumped over to one side.  An occasional soft snore issued from the man.

          Ironhorse studied Harrison's face carefully.  There were pronounced dark circles under the man’s eyes, and his hair was more disheveled than usual.  Paul doubted the scientist had shaved in at least two days.

          The opening of the door pulled Ironhorse's attention away from Blackwood and he grinned when Suzanne entered.  Glancing over at the sleeping man, she shook her head.

          "Hi," she whispered.

          Ironhorse nodded.

          "Good to see you awake," she said sincerely, reaching out to pat his shoulder.

          "How long have I been here?"

          "Two days.  The doctor said you're going to be fine.  But you'll be a guest for at least two more days," she explained, running her hand along his arm, reassuring herself that he was really there and okay.

          The soldier stifled a groan.  He hated hospitals, but concussions were nothing to fool around with.  "Great," he muttered instead.  "I'm just thrilled, to quote your daughter."

          Suzanne smiled and patted his cheek as if he were a small child.  "Consider it payback for scaring us all half to death."

          "I'm sorry about that," he said, his face coloring a healthy crimson.

          "What's to be sorry for?  You just fell off a cliff, landed on your head and survived all alone on an island for three days."

          "If I hadn't landed on my head, I wouldn't have hid from the squad when they came looking for me."

          Her eyes rounded.  "You hid?"

          The man's expression turned decidedly sheepish.  "I thought they were the enemy.  I don't think I realized where I was, or what had really happened for a couple of days."

          "I think the squad will be glad to hear that," she explained.  "They think they just missed you."

          He grinned slightly.  "I'll talk to them when I get back to the Cottage – maybe set up a refresher course in tracking.  Of course, if they _had_ found me, I'd have to resign."

          She looked upset for a moment, then realized that he was teasing.  She grinned.

          "How are you and Norton?" he asked.

          She shook her head; their colonel was definitely back.  "Fine.  It was hell for a few days, but we're okay now.  You would _not_ have wanted to see us two days ago, though.  Neither of us could stop smiling… or giggling."

          Ironhorse's eyebrows climbed.  It was good to have a family.  "And Harrison?"

          Suzanne's gaze shifted to rest on the sleeping man.  "He's doing better.  It was touch and go for a while."

          Ironhorse nodded slightly.  He was already exhausted.  "I'll talk to him."

          "Not now, you won't," she corrected.  "Get some sleep, Paul.  We can't drag him out of here, so I'm sure he'll be waiting for you when you wake up."

          The colonel nodded, sleep overtaking him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Suzanne was right.  When Ironhorse woke the second time it was to find Blackwood awake and helping a young nurse arrange a meal tray on a bedside stand.

          "Well," the astrophysicist said, "it's about time you woke up.  I was thinking about eating part of this myself."

          "Dr. Blackwood," the nurse scolded, "if you want something to eat, we have a cafeteria on the first floor."

          The soldier held his grin in place.  She was serious, even if Blackwood wasn't. After all, Harrison was a vegetarian, and he was sure the gravy decorating his mashed potatoes was made from beef stock.  He sniffed.  It smelled pretty good.  _Amazing_.  At least this dose of hospital food wouldn't finish what the alien had started and kill him.  Once she was finished, the nurse left the pair alone, disappearing out the door with a final half-scowl at the scientist.

          "Here, let me raise this up for you," Harrison said, pressing a button at the foot of the bed.

          Ironhorse heard the hum before the whole apparatus contorted into what looked like a huge overstuffed chair someone had put sheets on.

          By the time the bed finished moving, Blackwood had moved the tray over in front of the colonel.  " _Bon appétit_.  The doctor said soft food for twenty-four hours, then they'll see about giving you some _real_ food."

          "I'm going to have to have a talk with this doctor," the soldier grumbled.  Taking up the fork, Ironhorse ignored the rumbling in his stomach and tried the potatoes.  They were edible.  Damned amazing.  "What're you still doing here?" he asked.  "You look like a castaway yourself."

          Blackwood eased down into the chair he inhabited most of the time and grinned.  "I had to make sure you didn't sneak off."

          "Suzanne talked to you."

          "She did," Harrison acknowledged smugly.

          "Teach me to open my mouth," he replied in mock disgust.  Savoring several more bites, Ironhorse finally looked up and met Blackwood's eyes.  "How are you?"

          The scientist paused, then cleared his throat.  "I'm not going to lie to you and say I'm fine, but I'm doing okay," he admitted.  "I'm still dealing with some things.  And I want to talk to you about them, but not here – when you're home."

          Ironhorse nodded.  He was proud of his friend.  Harrison had handled himself better than he had anticipated.

          "God, I missed you," Blackwood said, his voice catching.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse fought back the impatience and waited for Suzanne to make sure she had collected everything from his hospital room, adding it to the large duffel bag she carried.  Norton was waiting in the hall, showing off his voice-activated wheelchair for two small children, and Harrison was maneuvering a more traditional wheelchair into the room so the colonel could leave.

          "In you go," Blackwood said, punctuating the command with a sweeping gesture.

          Ironhorse scowled, but complied.

          "I think I have it all," Suzanne informed the scientist.

          "I didn't have that much here," the soldier countered.

          She smiled indulgently.  "But you're leaving with prescriptions, an ankle brace, Epsom salts, and a few other goodies to help you down the path to a total recovery."

          Ironhorse sighed.  When the mother hen complex kicked in they were impossible.  "Are we driving back?" he asked, not particularly looking forward to it.

          "Nope," Blackwood said, but he didn't elaborate as he wheeled Ironhorse into the hallway.

          "I have to go," Norton told the kids, spinning Gertrude around and rolling after the threesome.  "So, the big guy's on wheels, huh?"

          "Not for long," Ironhorse promised.  "How're we getting home?"

          "We're sailing," Suzanne informed him.

          "Sailing?"

          "Yep," Norton said.  "Harrison told us how much you like the water, so we thought it would be best to take you home a _relaxing_ way."

          Ironhorse hid a grin.  "I appreciate that, but which one of you knows anything about sailing?"

          Suzanne leveled the soldier with a stern look.  "I'll have you know I'm very good with a sheet," she said, using the nautical slang for the ropes controlling the sails.  "But we rented a sixty-three foot sailboat complete with three cabins, kitchen and a captain."

          "I see," Paul said.  "And who's paying for all this?"

          "We'll discuss that later," Harrison said.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Easing out of the harbor and past the breakwater, Ironhorse and the others watched the Santa Barbara and Goleta coastlines pass by as they headed north up the California coast.  It was a beautiful day.

          Mid-afternoon the captain lowered the sails and dropped anchor.

          "What's up?" the colonel asked, awakening from the light sleep that had overtaken him.

          "Supper," Suzanne said, standing and heading below, Harrison following.

          Norton rearranged himself along the padded deck seat and watched the sun as  it dropped closer to the horizon.  "The captain had some fresh albacore and who knows what else down there.  Should be good."

          "We shouldn't be out of contact for so long," Ironhorse said, trying to convince himself.

          "Paul, you're not going to be kicking any alien butt for a few more days, and believe me, we all need this.  Thinking we'd lost you didn’t make for a fun time for any of us."

          Ironhorse's cheeks colored.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean it that way."

          "I know," Norton said.  "Besides, Derriman can reach us if he needs to."

          "Oh?"

          "Yep.  See that boat off to port?"  The soldier looked, spotting a large cabin cruiser not far away.  "That's our backup."

          Ironhorse smiled and nodded.  "Smart.  Whose idea?"

          "Suzanne's, actually," Norton said.

          "Here we go," Blackwood announced as he emerged from below carrying a plate with fish, salad and boiled red potatoes.

          "Smells great," Norton enthused.

          When everyone was seated with their food and a glass of wine – Ironhorse having to make do with cider – Blackwood raised his glass, saying, "To reunions."

          "Hear, hear," Suzanne concurred, and Ironhorse and Drake echoed her.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The meal was eaten in relative silence, each of the Project members simply savoring the company and the excellent cooking.  When they were through, the captain collected the dishes and headed below to clean up.  Suzanne and Norton entered into a spirited game of backgammon, and Harrison stood at the railing, gazing up at the stars.

          After a while, Ironhorse excused himself, saying, "I'm sorry, people, but I think I'm going to call it a night.  But I want you to know that I appreciate this, all of it.  I'll see you in the morning."

          "Night," Drake called after him.

          "Sleep well," Suzanne added.

          "Here, let me help you," Blackwood said, reaching out to steady Paul when he swayed slightly on his feet.

          Together they maneuvered down to the staterooms.  Harrison opened one room and held the door open while Ironhorse entered.  The room was bigger than the soldier expected, with a full-sized bed, wardrobe, small dresser, nightstand, and an adjoining bath.  Walking over to the bed, he sank down and looked up at the scientist.

          "I haven't been this tired in a long time."

          "Well, you're still not back to a hundred percent.  Remember that in a few days when you want to start back to full duty, will you?"

          "I'll try."

          Closing the door behind him, Blackwood walked over to stand in front of the colonel.  Kneeling down, he reached for one of the soldier's feet.

          "What the hell are you doing, Blackwood?"

          "I'm just going to help you get your shoes off.  You look like you're ready to fall over."

          "I'm perfectly capable of doing that myself," Ironhorse replied sheepishly, but he allowed the scientist to remove his shoes and socks.  Paul scowled at the scientist as he managed to remove his flannel shirt, leaving his white tee-shirt on.  "That's fine," he slurred, "I'll take care of the rest."

          "Lay down," Harrison told him.  " _I'll_ get the rest.  Those pills I dissolved in your cider are kicking in."

          "You _drugged_ me?"

          "Worked like a charm, too, didn't it?  The doctor said you need to take them for a couple of days to make sure you get plenty of rest, then you're on your own."

          Ironhorse lay back, too tired to argue.  The astrophysicist unfastened the soldier's jeans and tugged them off while the colonel glowered blearily.  "Damn it, Blackwood, you do this again… I'll use you for target practice."

          "Fine.  Tomorrow you take your medicine like a good colonel and I won't have to."

          "I'll 'good colonel' you, Blackwood…"

          Harrison paused, his gaze sweeping over Ironhorse.  The injured ankle was still wrapped tightly and fading bruises covered Paul's chest and thighs, but all in all the officer was none the worse for his experience.  They had been lucky once again. Pulling the blanket up, Harrison carefully covered the already sleeping man.

          "I'll be in a little later to check on you," Blackwood whispered.

          "Don't need t' be checked on," Paul mumbled, his eyes still closed.

          "Of course not," Harrison said, tucking the blanket under Ironhorse's shoulders.  He smiled faintly.  "Good night, Colonel."  Reaching out, he briefly touched Paul's covered shoulder, then turned and tiptoed from the room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse woke when Blackwood eased into the room.  He grinned.  The scientist was on tiptoe, trying very carefully _not_ to wake the soldier, but years of training had made sleep impossible when someone was sneaking into his room.

          Paul let the scientist get comfortable in the chair before asking, "So, you all decided to call it a night, huh?"

          Harrison cursed softly under his breath.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to wake you."

          "That's okay.  I feel much better."

          "You should, it's almost midnight.  The captain abandoned us hours ago.  I swear, this alien-busting business has made night owls out of Norton and Suzanne; they're still up there, playing games."

          "And you've always been weird."

          Blackwood smiled in the darkness.  "Just because I sleep one hour out of every five does _not_ mean I'm 'weird,' as you put it."

          "No," Paul countered, "but that on top of all your other habits does."

          "Some people you just can't please," the astrophysicist said, scooting down to get comfortable.

          A quiet settled over the cabin and Harrison was loath to disturb it, but he couldn't stop himself.  "Paul?"

          The overly-controlled tone told Ironhorse that the man was upset and needed to talk.  "Harrison, it's over.  Everything's okay."

          "But we _left_ you out there."

          "I hid, Harrison.  You couldn't have found me.  Like I told Suzanne, if you had, I'd have to resign.  It wasn't your fault.  Everyone did exactly what they should've done."  He rolled over and pushed himself up on an elbow.  "It's over.  We survived."

          The scientist leaned forward.  "And tomorrow's another day… another battle."

          "Yes," was the quiet reply.  "And maybe a victory."

          Blackwood thought a moment, then nodded.  "Yes, maybe a victory."

          "Good," Paul said, lying back down.  "Now, get some sleep."

          "You do the same," Harrison countered.  "And Paul?"

          "Yeah?"

          "It's good to have you home."

          Ironhorse smiled in the darkness.  "It's good to be home, Harrison."


End file.
